


Catabasis: An Interlude

by days4daisy



Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: I Don't Even Know, I apologize in advance, M/M, beastiality...kind of?, bloodplay...kind of?, general weirdness and grossness, homosexuality slur used, references to canon non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 18:33:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1868055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was only a matter of time before Roman met Peter in his underworld. Their scene in "Catabasis," extended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catabasis: An Interlude

**Author's Note:**

> Heavy spoilers for "Catabasis" and general spoilers for all of Season 1.
> 
> Also, this is super weird. I apologize -_-

It was only a matter of time before the catabasis led Roman to Peter. Roman is not prepared for him yet, not after meeting Brooke Bluebell in the school hallway. Her intestines hung in a bloody coil from her abdomen. “You said you would give me a ride,” she said. Her smile was like sugar.

Brooke wore one of her preppy schoolgirl outfits. Roman could never stand those looks on her. The clean-cut, All American mirage. He preferred her in near-transparent dresses that barely covered her ass, five-inch heels, and big gold hooker earrings.

That was Brooke’s truth. No shame, no secrets.

Peter is outside the abandoned Castle Godfrey, his arms folded on the railing overlooking the water. Roman walks to him slowly. His pulse should be racing from this relentless nightmare. Blood and guts. Forked tongues. The echoing cries of Francis Pullman - _I don't want to see that! I **don't** want to see that!_

Roman should be angry too. It hasn’t been long since that night of rage, standing in the rain outside the Rumancek trailer.

But for now, Roman's fury and fear are distant. He just nods at Peter when he joins him on the walkway.

Upon Roman’s arrival, Peter looks him over. "Is that blood?" he asks. Peter is nonchalant but somehow more perceptive than anyone in Roman’s life

Roman turns to face him and stands up straighter. His white t-shirt soaks through with blood in the circular shape of a snake eating its own tail. He smirks. The wound is a badge of pride.

Then, Roman turns, breaking his eye contact with Peter. His rage returns in a strange way, focused on the birds hovering over the water. They're too dumb to know north from south. Deceived by the trickery of nature itself.

"Stupid ass birds!" he shouts. One by one, they fall to their deaths with a final splash.

Roman convinces himself that they deserve it. They're too stupid to be alive. He has nothing to do with killing them.

"Are you ok?" Peter asks. He has a way of looking at Roman that is both dismissive and interested. He cares about Roman, but he isn't concerned. Not the way he would be about Letha.

Roman returns to that night in the rain. It was cold and dark where he stood. But inside the trailer, it was golden light and warmth. Peter was on top of Letha, her arms pinned behind her head. He kissed her with all the concern and desire he would never give Roman or anyone else. Letha twisted under him blissfully. 

"We're in this together," Roman insists. Maybe here, in this underworld, he can get Peter to acknowledge the bond between them. If he can't make the real Peter understand, then at least he can convince his own mental construction of Peter.

Behind them, there is a growl. Hungry, primal. Peter's eyes widen and he stutter-steps backwards. "Holy fuck!" he shouts. Roman can't remember ever seeing Peter so afraid. He follows Peter's gaze but sees nothing. Just the shadows of nightmares that exist only within the mind of Peter Rumancek.

It's good to know that Peter is also afraid of the unseen. No, it's better than good. It's downright _hilarious_. Roman bursts out laughing.

"Say what you have to say to me." Peter is angry.

Roman isn't sorry, but he also doesn't feel the need to push. "We're in this together," Roman says, gentler. "You and I."

Peter's eyes narrow suspiciously. "Why do you need that to be true so badly?" It's just like Peter to want to analyze him over admitting truth. He truly is the personification of the wolf, seeking the scent above all else.

"Why can't you admit it?" Roman grits.

Peter's gaze softens under his frustration. "I guess we're both scorpions," he concedes. The words sound surprised, like this is the first time Peter has come to this realization.

"Is there anything I can do to fix this?" Roman asks. He blurts out the question, but even he isn’t sure what he means. What does he want to fix? The threat to their town? The rift between them? 

Peter does not have an answer. He closes his eyes and rubs his face as if struck with a sudden fever. It is a fascinating expression, something painful and longing. "It's like the hottest, wettest pussy on earth," he whispers.

"...What?" Roman isn't sure whether to be amused or disturbed.

Peter drops the hand from his face and looks at Roman closely. "That's what fear smells like," he explains.

Roman stares at him, stunned. "Is that...what you want with Letha?" he asks, cautious. Peter smiles, he has the nerve to _smile_ of all things.

Anger knots tightly in Roman’s stomach. He grabs a fistful of Peter's shirt and shakes him. "Is that what gets you off, you dirty fucking gypsy!? Fear!?"

Peter holds his hands out at his sides, a sign of innocence. Just like Brooke Bluebell. He never stops smiling. "Are you afraid of me, Roman?" he asks.

Roman removes his hand from Peter's shirt, but it stays between them, balled loose and useless. "I'm not afraid of you”.

"Are you sure?" Peter goads. His smile deepens into something more knowing, more threatening. He leans forward, his face inches from Roman's jaw, and takes a deep breath.

Roman swallows hard. "Get away from me," he says. His instinct is to shove Peter off of him. Or worse, grab him and throw him over the rail. Watch him fall with the birds. What a confusing death that would be.

"You're afraid, Godfrey," Peter whispers. Roman can feel the lust in each word. He snaps.

Peter is pushed violently against the rail. His body hits the metal post with a clanking sound that echoes through the empty air around them.

The impact should have injured anyone. Peter just laughs.

He tilts his amused gaze upward, right into the line of Roman's fury. "Your fear doesn't smell like pussy, Roman," he muses. "No. It smells like something different. Something..." Peter’s lips graze the column of Roman's throat. "Totally different."

"Get off me, you fucking faggot," Roman rasps. Only, Roman is the one on top of Peter. His weight pins the smaller man firmly against the rail.

Peter kisses his neck again. Roman sucks in a breath. He can almost see those yellow, soulful eyes. Hear the panting breaths of the animal. Feel the power beneath that thick, black fur.

"Dirty gypsy. Faggot." Peter purrs the words, mocking him. "Anything else?" He slides a hand between Roman's legs. Squeezes his crotch in his cupped palm. 

Roman shudders, drained of his willpower. He drops his head and kisses Peter roughly.

Animal.

Roman takes Peter's face in his hands. Thumbs his bearded jaw and tastes Peter's mouth with his tongue. "We're in this together," Roman says against his lips. "Say it." He's desperate. " _Say it_."

"You're beautiful," Peter replies. Roman recoils as if burned, releasing Peter's face from his hands.

Peter watches him with dark, hungry eyes. His mouth is a tauntingly serene smile. "Stop it," Roman says.

"You're beautiful," Peter repeats. He closes the distance between them, his body against Roman's again. He kisses Roman's jaw and continues down to his neck. The swell of Roman's Adam's apple is traced with his tongue.

Need slices like agony through Roman's body. "Don't," he begs.

"I won't say you're ugly," Peter says. He lifts his head, eyes glinting. "I'm not Ashley."

"Shut up!" Roman staggers away from him like a drunkard.

Peter chuckles, unfazed. He tracks after Roman, the predator. His hands drag down Roman's body without permission. All the way to his pants.

Peter undoes them with far too much ease. He reaches through the folds of fabric and draws out Roman's arousal. Roman is already hot and thick, filling his hand. "Is this what you want?" Peter asks, like he's speaking to a child. "Do you want to be ugly?"

"You goddamn asshole. You're fucking my cousin!" Roman shoves Peter back.

The action makes his chest seize up, and he cries out with alarm. When Roman is able to look down, he can't make out the snake stain on his t-shirt. His entire shirt is soaked through with blood. Red drips like shower water to the walkway grating around him.

The loss of blood should make Roman weak. But it doesn’t. He feels powerful, like he can own the world. Like he _should_ own it.

Why not? He should own everything. Even Peter Rumancek.

"Do it," Peter dares, reading his thoughts. He holds Roman's stare with a smirk. "What's one more Godfrey conquest?" The unspoken meaning is obvious. _Rape me. Like you raped her_.

"She thought I was beautiful!" Roman screams. His cock throbs painfully between his legs. "I had to show her- I had to show her what I was."

"Show me," Peter murmurs.

He pushes Roman's blood-soaked t-shirt up to his chest for access. Blood coats Peter's hands, red liquid gloves. He continues without care, tasting Roman's torso. His mouth covers Roman's stomach, his ribcage, his chest. Roman groans his pleasure.

Peter peers up at him. His face is smeared with blood, a carnivorous mess. “You're beautiful to me, Roman," he says.

Roman risks eye contact, but he can't meet Peter's gaze. Peter’s face shifts and stutters. He isn't real. None of this is.

Roman sinks down into the pool of blood that has formed around his feet. He wraps his arms protectively around his knees. Blood crusts on his face as he rests his cheek against his kneecaps. 

"I'm ugly," he hisses. "This thing...this thing inside me..."

"We're all animals, Roman."

Roman squeezes his eyes shut against the sound of Peter's voice. "Leave me alone," he pleads. "Go fuck Letha. That's what you want, isn't it? Go fuck her. She's beautiful. _Angels_ fuck her, she's so goddamn beautiful."

He feels the presence beside him. A head nuzzles his. Peter's head. No...

Yes. Peter's head.

Roman lifts wide, wet eyes. Peter sits beside him in his wolf form. The golden eyes of the animal observe him closely.

After a moment, the beast advances. Does he mean to comfort or kill him?

Roman is tired. Wearily, he rests his forehead against Peter's fur. The beast exhales, allowing him. Roman scratches behind his ears, massages the scruff at the back of his neck. Peter, in kind, licks his hair and cleans the flaking blood from his face. He takes a deep breath, absorbing Roman’s scent.

Roman rests his back against the railing. Eyes on the wolf, he removes his blood soaked t-shirt. Underneath, his body is a disaster. The symbol of the snake is a charred brand on his chest. Blood oozes from the tattoo, soaking his skin. It dribbles gently down into the open V of his unzipped pants, staining the base of his cock. His shaft still stands hard, red and waiting. 

Peter steps between Roman's split legs and bows his head. Slowly, lazily, he licks away the blood from Roman's torso. His tongue, strong and feral, devours Roman's abdomen, stomach, chest. The wolf's snout grows moist with blood.

Peter closes his eyes as he tastes. Roman’s head swims dreamily. It takes all of his energy to lift his hand and run it through Peter's fur.

"Good boy," he whispers. Peter growls, understanding the words perfectly. Roman smiles.

He is still chuckling when Peter lowers his head into his lap. The wolf grunts and nuzzles his crotch. His tongue drags up the length of his cock. Roman makes a soft, surprised sound. But it's not really a surprise, is it?

Roman lifts his hips. "Go on," he says. 

Peter ducks his head and proceeds to taste him. His tongue moves in rapid milking, licking him raw. A low, guttural sound rises in the animal's throat. Hot breaths burst impatiently from his snout. 

Roman grasps weakly at the rail bar behind his head. His breaths grow heavy, unsteady. Is this what Brooke felt, he wonders. Did the animal lick out her cunt before it tore her in two? Life and death in one perfect, primal moment? 

"Ah - Peter!" he hisses, his hips rising. The wolf growls and bares its teeth. But it is his tongue that continues the work. It laps at Roman with a single-minded focus - no human thoughts or obligations to distract it. The sole purpose of existence in that moment is to possess him.

Likewise, the beast steals Roman's human thoughts. The order of the dragon. Ouroboros. The identity of his father. The ugly secret growing inside him, clawing to get out... All of it is consumed by this primal need to be devoured.

He finishes with a cry that leaves him startled and shaken. It feels like something inside him has shattered. Something he'll never get back.

Peter sits in front of Roman patiently. He is cleaning himself, Roman's blood and arousal mixing as one.

Roman sits forward suddenly and grabs his fur just below the neck. "What do you know?" he demands. His voice shakes. "Tell me."

The wolf sets its paws on Roman's chest. As an animal, he is smaller than Roman, but he is easily more powerful. Roman is forced down under his weight, the back of his head connecting with the rail bar. Peter lowers his head to Roman's neck, a deep rumbling in his throat. 

When the beast bites him, Roman moans and turns his head. Blood trickles sweetly from the wound, the red streaks standing out against his pale, cleaned skin. Roman's eyes roll back, blissful.

"We're animals," he whispers. Is he laughing or crying? Roman himself can’t tell. Gratefully, he strokes Peter's fur with trembling fingers.

"Roman!" His head turns sharply, as does the wolf's. In the entrance to the steel mill is the beautiful form of his sister. Shelley, his little glowworm. Her skin is an unearthly blue.

If she is shocked by what she sees on the walkway, she betrays nothing. But her voice is urgent. "Roman, come on! We don't have time!"

"You heard the lady." Roman's head snaps back around. Peter, in his human form, is leaning on the railing opposite him. There is a drop of blood slipping down a corner of his mouth.

Peter collects it with his thumb and licks it away. "Go on," he says, nodding in Shelley's direction.

Roman stands up and zips his pants. He pulls his t-shirt back on - his white, perfectly clean t-shirt. Runs a hand through his hair. He is back to being composed, cultured Roman Godfrey. All that remains is the swollen redness around his eyes.

Turning to leave, Roman pauses and thinks better of it. He crosses to Peter and kisses him. His fingers slide possessively into Peter’s hair. "Once you claim something, its a two way street, Rumancek," he mutters.

Peter chuckles. "You need to go with Shelley," he says.

Roman sighs and pushes off of him. He’s right, Shelley is waiting. This journey is for a reason. Staying here is not an option.

Roman walks quickly to his sister and does not look back. Peter - the beautiful Peter of his subconscious - is left behind. He watches Roman until he disappears from sight.

*Fin*


End file.
